Fieldtrip To The Moon Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Fieldtrip To The Moon



Up the saddles of the high monuments-
Waiting with nose bleeds
Up the skirts of aspens- looking haughtily from
The fire towers,
Down through the break neck valleys into the
Innumerable lost lovers-
Words that escape from here without mothers,
Feral and never paying taxes:
Going down nakedly, drinking melted snow:
Sated into the mowed greenery
And spikenard below the monastery as if plane
And shipwreck survivors:
Selling sets of knives to the belief of divinity:
Where the otters pray and slap tails for
Housewives
Until there are rows of orange trees, and pools
The glisten eternally-
In a suburban boudoir underneath a fieldtrip to
The moon.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
Close
Error Success